Hollow

by Maggie Shayne

  She nodded. Her questions needed answers, but not at the risk of their lives. She pulled on the tank, stuffed her feet into the boots, and bent to zip them up. Then she put on her jacket. When she finished, he handed her the knife. She ran her thumb over the symbols on its face, remembered in a flash, him handing it to her, smiling, telling her the symbols spelled out her name.

  Marshall took a step toward the door, and the memory dissolved.

  She touched his shoulder, stopping him. "Why fight our way out of here if we don’t have to? Let's try the window."

  He nodded, and they crossed the room, stepping lightly, then looked out the dirt-streaked window. The broken fire escape was far to the left. Too far to jump for it. Before Marshall could say anything, Kira had gone back to that beam and gathered up the length of rope lying on the floor under it. She brought it back, handed one end to him. "Tie this to something solid."

  He didn't hesitate, but quickly knelt and knotted the end of the rope around the base of the old-fashioned iron radiator beside the window. While he did that, she wrestled the window open, wincing at all the racket it made.

  “They're coming," he told her.

  She’d heard the heavy footfalls in the hallway just as clearly as he had. "We're out of time."

  Marshall held on to the rope. "Get on my back."

  "You can't hold us both."

  "I'll have to manage," he said, climbing out the window, feet braced on the wall, hands on the rope. "Hurry."

  She shimmied up onto the window sill, legs and feet out, then turned and lowered herself until she could wrap her legs around his waist. She let go of the sill and clutched his shoulders. "Go," she said.

  He let the rope lengthen, dropping them drastically. The sudden jerk at the end almost knocked her off him, but she held on. Then he pushed off with his feet and swung.

  She heard shouting, knew the men were in the room, now, searching for them. They came short of their goal and began swinging back the other way. Heads appeared at the window above. Then gunshots rang out. Marshall's feet hit the wall, and this time he pushed harder. They swung, overshooting the fire escape, and starting back the other way. When they were over the rickety metal contraption he let go, and they fell.

  She only had a second to feel panic before they hit the fire escape's landing with a terrible impact and a lot of noise. The entire structure groaned and wobbled, and for a second she thought it would rip itself free of the building and send them crashing to the ground.

  And then it did.

  The fire escape fell like a giant timber, and as they were hurled toward the ground, Marshall gripped her arm and yelled, "Jump!"

  So she jumped. They went airborne. The fire escape crashed, bits of rusted metal flying everywhere, and a split second later, Kira felt her own body hit the ground a few feet away from it.

  Dazed, she lifted her head, giving it a slow shake.

  "Come on, baby, they're coming." Marshall had her arm, tugging her to her feet, and then they were running.

  She realized the men were no longer firing at them from the window, but were exiting the building, coming after them on foot.

  "This way," she told Marshall. "The car's this way."

  They changed directions, sprinting full speed, until they ducked into an alley and spotted the car where she’d cleverly tucked it out of sight. She reached into her jacket pocket for the keys, but the pocket was empty. They were no longer there.

  "Bastards took my keys."

  "No problem." Marshall raced around to the back of the car, crouched low and reached underneath it. When he brought his hand out, there was a key in his palm. "You always keep a spare."

  "You know me better than I know me. How is that, I wonder?”

  “No time.” He held out the key.

  “No, you drive." She scrambled into the passenger side.

  He looked at her oddly, but didn't hesitate. He got behind the wheel, started the engine, and spun the tires as gunshots rang out behind them.

  She ducked instinctively just before the rear window was blown to bits. “My car! Will you get moving before they completely trash it!” She was mildly surprised by her own words. On the way here, the car had just been a car. Now, it was suddenly her baby.

  As they sped away with armed criminals piling into vehicles to give chase, Marshall glanced sideways at her and said, "You really don't remember everything, do you?"

  "No," she said. "I don't know why that's so hard for you to believe."

  "Oh, I believe it now," he said, shifting gears, speeding ever faster.

  "Why now?"

  "Because," he told her. "You never let me drive."

  Chapter 9

  "I think we lost them."

  "Yeah, along with my stomach," Kira said. But even though she knew the high speeds, split-second maneuvers, and two-wheel turns should have scared the hell out of her, she didn't feel afraid. She felt exhilarated, and more alive than she’d felt since waking up in a hospital with her mind completely emptied out. Hollow.

  She wasn’t hollow now. Her heart was pounding. Her blood was flowing and her skin tingling in ways they hadn't done since—since she could remember.

  He put a hand on her shoulder. It was warm, firm. Familiar. He was familiar. "You okay?"

  She nodded. "You'd almost think I was used to this kind of thing." Lifting her head slowly, she faced him, studied his profile as he drove the car with the skill of a pro. Her eyes just drank him in, his strong nose, his tanned skin, the slight shadow of beard on his cheek that made her heart beat even faster. And those lips of his, full and so sensual she got a little tremble of forbidden pleasure up her spine as she stared at them. The memory of kissing him, back at the house, came rushing to the surface unbidden. And right on its heels, other memories of kissing him followed. An avalanche of them tumbled and crashed into her conscious mind, one after another after another. Damn. She’d apparently spent a whole lot of time kissing this man.

  "I am, aren't I?" she asked him, just to gain control of her thoughts.

  “You are what?”

  “Used to this kind of thing.”

  He glanced her way, took a breath, then let it out again without answering.

  "Don't you think it's about time someone told me? It’s not right that everyone’s been hiding the truth about my past all this time. God, don’t you think I have a right to know? Doesn’t anyone?”

  He nodded. "You have every right to know. I know you do. Believe me, there's nothing I want more than to tell you everything, Kira. But—"

  "But?"

  He looked at her again. "I can't." The two words sounded forced through a space too small for them.

  She lowered her head. "What the hell does that mean, you can’t? Of course you can. Just open your mouth and speak words. It’s not rocket science.”

  There was longing in his eyes, and pain. He opened his mouth, then closed it, shook his head firmly. “I can’t.”

  “Can you at least tell me why not?"

  "Because the doctors said you needed to remember on your own."

  "That's stupid. That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard."

  "No. No, it's not Kira. Things went down. Bad things. Things that could make the most heartless bastard in the world cry like a baby. The doctors say you blocked it out for a reason."

  "Yeah, and that reason was an explosion that scrambled up my brain. A head injury. Simple.”

  “Not exactly.” He bit his lip, stared straight ahead and said nothing more. But she read his face, even though he kept it carefully focused on the road.

  "Are you saying my memory loss isn't from the head injury?”

  Silence. Stoic damned silence that had driven her to the edge of violence for as long as she’d known him.

  Sknew that. She remembered that. This was good. She wanted to throttle him and she understood why. Progress!

  “My memory loss doesn’t have a physical cause?"

  His deep sigh filled the car. "None th
at they could find. The docs said you'd get things back a little at a time. And that would be the best way for you. They said remembering all of it at once could be...bad."

  "I’m a little unclear on the whole good-bad thing,” she said. “Define bad."

  He didn’t answer that.

  She blew out a sigh, but it sounded more like a growl. She was angry and impatient. "I have been getting things back. Piles of things. Like a dumptruck load of puzzle pieces.”

  "Yeah?" He glanced at her, and his eyes were alight with interest and something else. Something that looked like hope. "What have you remembered?"

  She closed her eyes and the images rolled through her mind again. She saw herself in his arms, saw him kissing her, laughing with her, making love to her.

  "Kira?"

  "Nothing I'm ready to talk about."

  "Okay. That's okay." He reached across the seat to put his hand over hers.

  She opened her eyes and looked at it there, felt her throat tighten and her eyes burn, and didn't know why she was on the verge of tears. She didn’t cry. She was not a weeper. Somehow, she knew that about her old self.

  Time to change the subject. "Where are we going?" she asked, to get her mind off her frustration. "This isn't the way back to my house."

  "We can't go back to your mother's place." He didn't call it her place, she noted, and wondered if she should read anything into that. "They'll be looking for us.”

  “My mother—”

  “She’s perfectly safe. You’ll have to trust me on that.”

  She did trust him. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind about that.

  “So right now, we’re heading to a safe place where we can hole up, regroup, and phone our—my contact."

  She nodded slowly. "How far?"

  "An hour. Why?"

  She shrugged her shoulders and lowered her head and felt like a stubborn kid who wouldn’t quit asking after a parent said no. But at least she was changing up the questions. "You won't tell me who I am," she said softly. "So how about you use the time to tell me who you are, Marshall?"

  He looked at her quickly.

  She blinked and knew something without even trying. "That's not even your real name, is it?"

  He seemed to consider before answering, then said, "No, it’s not. Do you remember what it is?”

  She shook her head.

  "Try," he said.

  She closed her eyes, and again saw those images of a different Kira from another lifetime. He was wrapping her up in his arms, holding her, kissing her. And she heard her own voice whispering his name in a passionate sigh that said far more.

  "Michael," she whispered.

  And the image went on, spinning its web through her mind, playing out like a clip from a movie she’d seen long ago. The kiss ended, and he backed away just a little, and she looked at him in his tux, and then down at herself. She saw a knee-length white dress with pretty lace that crisscrossed up the front of her, a lot like the one she’d noticed in the shop when her mother helped her choose a different one. She heard a man's voice, not Michael's, but some other man, who stood there with them, saying, "Ladies and gentleman, it is my honor to present for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Michael and Kira Waters."

  Her eyes flew open. She stared at him, stunned.

  "What? What's wrong?" he asked.

  Kira couldn’t speak. She just kept blinking at him. Then she moved her gaze lower, to his hands on the steering wheel, seeking out the left one. There was a gold band on his third finger. She clapped a hand to her mouth, then belatedly, thought to look to her own third finger. Peter’s engagement ring gleamed there, its stone obscenely huge.

  Suddenly she had to get that ring off her. She pinched it between her fingers, twisted and pulled until it came off, and then she hit the button to lower the window, and whipped it out of the car.

  "Kira, for God's sake, what's the matter?"

  She swallowed hard. "We are married! You...you're my...husband."

  He hit the brakes so hard she automatically braced her hands on the dashboard to keep from hitting the windshield, even though she was wearing a seat belt—had put it on thirty seconds into this mad drive.

  He steered the car onto the shoulder and braked to a stop, sending up a cloud of dust all around them. And then he was turning toward her, reaching for her, his face so filled with emotion she could barely believe it. He released her seat belt and pulled her into his arms over the console, his hands burying themselves in her hair as he held her so tightly she could barely breathe. His mouth moved over her neck, and then her jaw, and finally covered her lips. He kissed her with more passion than she would have thought one man could generate. She went dizzy with pleasure and longing, and her body reacted without her mind's permission or concern. She kissed him back. She opened her mouth to his, twisted her arms around him, and held on as if she would never let go. They made out tike teens after prom for a solid ten minutes. And she didn’t want to stop.

  When he finally lifted his head, he stared into her eyes, his own glittering with unshed tears, and whispered, "You remember."

  She lifted a hand, realized it was trembling as she touched his hair. "A little," she said in a voice gone hoarse with emotion. "A lot. Me in a bridal gown, you in a tux, a minister, a kiss."

  Blinking in confusion he tipped his head to one side. "That's all?"

  She nodded. "It’s coming together. It’s all in there. I’m sorry it’s taking so long, Michael.” His name rolled off her tongue easily, naturally, and the disappointment in his eyes cut like a knife.

  "Don't be sorry, Kira. It's not your fault." He smoothed her hair, reached across her to put her seat belt back on. Then he repositioned himself behind the wheel and set the car into motion once more. Not as fast, though. He was driving slower, and his hands were unsteady on the wheel, a little shaky, she thought. "Besides,” he said, his tone artificially upbeat. “It's progress."

  "But I don't understand. If I'm married to you, then how was I engaged to Peter? Did we...are we divorced?"

  "No way. You think I'd let a catch like you get away? You’re once in a lifetime, Kira. No. This is...it's complicated."

  "But…you were going to let me go through with the wedding. And my mother—"

  "Your mother doesn't know about us. No one does. We were married in secret...damn it, I'm not supposed to be telling you any of this."

  She closed her eyes, fought to make sense of things, but her head had begun pounding as if it would split, and she pressed her palms to her temples, lowered her head, squeezed her eyes hard and tried to will the damn memories to return.

  “Don’t…don’t try to force it. Please, Kira, you’re hurting yourself.”

  “You’re right.” Sitting up, she massaged her own head and opened her eyes again.

  "It’s coming back, and it’ll keep coming,” he said. “You'll know everything soon. Go against your nature and try to be patient, okay?”

  She smiled at his teasing tone. “Okay. I’ll try.”

  He drove, and kept looking worriedly at her as he did. "You're still in pain."

  "It's just a headache."

  "Information overload. The doctors said this would happen. Try to relax. We're almost there. The place is well-stocked, too. I'll find you some pain reliever and a stiff drink as soon as we get there."

  "And some weapons, I hope." She was leaning back against the headrest now, her eyes still closed. "I feel freaking naked without my .44s."

  She popped her eyes open and smiled, recognizing the voice of the one she was coming to think of as the kick-ass bitch from hell.

  That Kira was coming back. And this Kira was glad of it. She’d missed herself. And if a man like Michael could love that Kira, then she must be something special.

  #

  The place where Michael took her was a small log cabin situated on the shore of a looking-glass lake. They pulled up just as the sun was going down and painting the water in strokes of liquid gold. Pine trees backed the c
abin, and the shapes of those same pines were cut out of the green shutters that flanked each window. A porch spanned the entire front of the place, and there was a wooden swing dangling from its roof on black chains.

  Kira got out of the car as soon as he stopped and stood there looking around, filling her lungs with the fresh tangy scent of the pine forest. "God, this is gorgeous. If we weren’t running for our lives, it would be perfect."

  He had been coming around the car toward her, but he stopped when she said that, and when she looked at him, she found him staring at her a little oddly. "Did I say something wrong?"

  He shook his head. "You never liked it here. Said it was too far from civilization, too boring."

  She shook her head slowly, her eyes skimming the lake now, noting the way the sentinel pines on the far shore were perfectly reflected in the water. "How could I ever be bored here?"

  "I asked you that a thousand times."

  Something of the pieces snapped together in her mind with her next breath, gently filling in a little more of the confusing, paint-splotched canvas of her mind with a stroke of vivid colors. "My father used to take me to a place like this when I was a little girl."

  Michael put a hand on her shoulder, squeezed softly. "His hunting cabin in Seven Hills."

  "You've been there?" She twisted her head to look at him, surprised.

  "No, but he told me about it."

  Kira narrowed her eyes and searched her mind, but found no answers. "So I loved it then, and I love it now. What happened to make me stop in between?"

  His hand slid to the center of her back, and he rubbed small circles between her shoulder blades. "Don't push. It'll come to you."

  She nodded, but she was impatient. She wanted her memories all together, in order, a complete picture of her past. She wanted all of it. Now. But she tried to at least give the impression that she wouldn't push too hard. "Is there a fireplace?"

  "Wouldn’t be much of a log cabin without one. Do you want a fire tonight?"